Once More Unto the Breach
by RowenaMatthewJones
Summary: If one is immortal, does death mean anything? Does that looming shadow cease to follow? To one with eternal life, is death a long threatened curse, or a longed for peace? Perhaps that is why so many nations have tried suicide. Curiosity, nay, I think that it is peace, that black nothingness or golden heaven that they so desire. That is what England will find out.


**This is the edited version of my previous story. It is significantly different from what I usually** **write, therefore, I would appreciate any and all reviews. Whether pointers, comments, or questions, please feel free.**

The blonde man stood at the edge of the bridge. The wind whipped his already tousled blonde hair all about. The view is beautiful. A great stretch of sea is spread out before him, green, grey black, blue, it seemed as if the ocean's colors always reflected his mood. Today the waters were white capped, confused, and a stormy grey. It was beautiful, but the best was the smell. It was always his favorite smell. Freedom, danger, adventure, the sirens were calling him. The mermaids and the monsters in the depths of the great grey sea. Only he could see them. Only he understood them. The called him home. Away from the cares of the world, away from the voices, away from the screaming and the crying and sobbing of the world. Away from the brokenness. The world was cracked, or perhaps...that's him. Who knows, but he was falling, falling off of that dangerous ledge he had constructed for himself. That balance beam between chaos and order, freedom and reality. He was running from the fake sympathy, the false laughter and the masks that haunted his world.

He had one too, a mask. It was a mask of control, of propriety that hid the wildness and unpredictability of the sea that was his soul. He walked, head bowed, searching for someone wild, when he should have been sailing proud. He stayed in hope that one day the masks would crack so he could see the beauty beneath. But he never took off his own. So he walked past the fleeting souls and the lasting ones, hoping to see a true face, never realizing that everyone else wanted to see one too. He was just one of the crowd of the silent screamers, one of the silent criers who struggled to hold their masks in place all the while hoping someone else would lose theirs first. He had lost his mask for sure, but with it he had lost his soul. For the ravages of time work to heal and to hurt, and to one so broken as him, he was hurt beyond repair.

He stood upon the edge of a knife, possessing neither the courage to jump nor the will to return. So now he stood, ready to let the tears of the sea swallow him up. It is only one step off the balance beam of life. He prayed to God that he would have the courage to jump and prepared to follow his heart to the murky depths of his soul, the sea. He stood, silhouetted against the flames of a dying sun, and a single tear ran down his cheek. And in one moment, he was true, he was wild. His mask crumbled. And disappeared into the sea, always to be a part of him. He was beautiful standing there, his soul, naked, on display for the world. He begged for someone to see him, to accept him, to love him enough to show him the nakedness beneath their own mask. He watched and waited in desperate hope. But none came. Then, the sun, that great light of life, sank beneath the horizon, and the world was swallowed up in Night's midnight wings. Untainted, and uncovered eyes looked up at the sky and saw chaos. The stars adorned the night sky, like fireflies on a warm summer night. They were as numerous as sand on the seashore, and as beautiful as his beloved sea. It was here, in that moment, the man ceased to hear the screams and instead heard the songs. The sad laments, the cheerful melodies, the serenades, and lullabies entranced him with their beauty. He sat and stared, thinking of all the wasted years waiting for someone just as broken as he to rescue him. He sat,, stared, and cried.

Then he got up, and walked away,

He was safe, at least for today.

Though his only goal is now to live,

He had stood 100 times on the edge of that bridge.

Something always brought him back,

The years,

The tears

The hearts that crack,

All the while, brought him back.


End file.
